The Mysterious Case of Sam Winchester and the Invisible Monster
by JBS-Forever
Summary: Dean finds Sam a day and a half after he goes missing. (Or, the mysterious creature they're hunting that is messing with Sam) (three-shot)
1. Chapter 1

**I was looking through my documents and found this story I'd started but never finished and I decided to post it. I figure it'll be a three chapter story since most of it is already written and it's not very long. So...yeah, haha.**

 **Enjoy.**

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He rounds the corner, gun raised.

In the middle of the room, Sam is sitting in a chair, arms pulled behind him, head slumped forward onto his chest. Dean pans his gaze across the space, looking for any signs of threat. When nothing jumps out, he hurries forward, sliding his gun into his waistband. He kneels in front of Sam and cups his cheeks, raising his face.

"Sam?" he asks. Sam doesn't move. He sighs. "Great. Just great."

He lets Sam's head down and moves around him. Sam's wrists are locked together with handcuffs and Dean curses to himself as he fumbles through his pockets looking for his lock pick. Once he finds it, he digs around inside the lock until he hears it click and pop open. He slides the cuffs off Sam's wrists and jumps when Sam starts to fall forward. He catches him across the chest.

"Okay, buddy," he mutters, looking down at Sam's chained feet. "I didn't really think this one through. Now would be a great time for you to wake up."

Sam stays limp against him. Dean grunts as he forces him back into the chair and arranges his limbs to stay upright long enough for Dean to get his feet free. When the cuffs are gone from his legs, he cups Sam's face again.

"Sammy," he says. "Come on, Sam. Wake up. Come back to me. I need a little help here."

But Sam doesn't move. Dean pushes his hair back and his fingers glide over something sticky and warm.

"Perfect." He growls, shifting through Sam's hair to look at the wound. "This is perfect. I've got a concussed brother and some unknown monster roaming around killing people. Could today get any better?"

He stands and grips Sam under his armpits. "All right, up we go."

He yanks Sam to his feet and stumbles under his weight, legs buckling. He throws one of Sam's arms around his shoulder.

"You feel free to wake up at any time, little brother," he says. He pulls Sam along with him, trying to move as quickly as he can. With his gun now stowed away, his senses are on high alert. If something jumps out at them now they're both screwed.

They're moving down another hallway when Dean feels Sam take some of his weight. He stops.

"Sam?" he asks. Sam groans.

Dean leans him back against a wall and sinks down with him when his legs give way. He holds his face, shaking him.

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyes blink open slowly.

"Hey, hey," Dean says. "You with me?"

Sam's pupils dart around, but he nods.

"Good. We gotta get out of here. Can you stand?"

He's already pulling Sam to his feet, supporting him again. Sam stumbles along beside him, but Dean is pleased he's holding most of his own weight, even if he's staggering.

They make it outside the house and down the front steps when Sam pulls away from him and falls to his knees. His stomach heaves and he retches onto the ground. Dean grabs his shoulder.

"You all right?" he asks.

Sam breathes for a long moment before he answers.

"Yeah," he says, roughly. "Help me up."

Dean does. He gets Sam back to the Impala and runs around to the driver's side while Sam gets in. The doors close and Dean shifts into drive, pushing the pedal nearly to the floor. The wheels spin and gravel flies and Dean grips the steering wheel hard, waiting until they are a mile away before he spares another glance at Sam, who has his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm awesome," Sam says.

"What the hell happened? What was that thing?"

"Not a ghost," Sam mutters. That had been Dean's first suggestion when they started hunting this thing three days ago.

"No shit."

He brings his head up. "Where are we anyway?"

"About fifteen miles outside of town." Dean checks his rear-view mirror and looks at Sam. "You need a hospital?"

Sam doesn't answer for a moment. Dean looks at him again.

"Sam?"

Sam jumps. "What?"

"Man, how hard did you get hit in the head?"

"I'm fine," he says.

"Like hell you are. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Tell me what happened. What do you remember?"

Sam rubs his forehead. "I don't know. I was outside the motel and then I woke up when you were there."

"Nothing in between?"

"Nothing."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I don't think so," Sam says.

"This doesn't make sense," Dean says. "Why would it take you and do nothing?"

"I don't know." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "And I don't care. Let's just get out of here before it notices I'm gone. We can do more research at the motel."

"Correction, _I'll_ do some research. We're gonna clean up that cut and then you need to get some rest. Give that cracked noggin a break."

"Dean–"

"Don't argue with me, Sammy. Do you even realize how long you've been gone?"

Sam shakes his head.

"You disappeared yesterday morning."

"It's been a day and a half?"

"Yes," Dean says. "And that fact that you were unconscious for all of it isn't making me feel good about this."

"How did you find me?"

"Honestly?" Dean looks in the mirror again, more out of habit than to see if there's anything behind him. "It was a fluke. There was no trails. There was no trace of you. Sam, the only reason I found you is because that thing wanted me to."

Sam is quiet a long moment. "That can't be good."

"No shit, Sherlock. Now shut up and let me drive."

XxXxX

Sam determines the wound on his head doesn't need stitching, so he cleans it up and bandages it and pops a few pain killers. Dean, on the other hand, isn't willing to let him off so easy. He checks Sam's eyes, his cognitive functions, and prods around his skull to make sure nothing is cracked. After he decides Sam is well enough, he forces more pills down his throat and shoos him off to the bed. Sam doesn't object. His body feels exhausted and weak and his head is throbbing. He would have gone to bed regardless of what Dean said.

He's out the second his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes again, it's quiet. It's quiet and unnaturally dark. Sam guesses it must be nighttime, maybe early morning. The sun was setting when he and Dean got back to the motel, so it wouldn't surprise him if he slept until it disappeared.

But Sam is positive it shouldn't be _this_ dark. Motels never are. There's always some kind of light coming from somewhere. From outside the window, from under the door, from the alarm clock. Sam looks around and sees none of that. He wonders if Dean turned off and blocked all the sources of light he'd normally see. Maybe he was worried they would irritate Sam's head injury. It wouldn't be the first time Dean had done something like it.

But when Sam reaches up to rub his eyes, he freezes. It doesn't matter how dark it is, Sam can _always_ see his hands in front of him, especially when he pushes them into his face. Right now he can't see them. His entire world is black.

And suddenly he realizes why.

"Dean," he breathes. He fumbles for the side table and knocks into something, sending it toppling with a crash.

Dean lets out a moan. "Sam, what the hell?" he asks. "It's three in the morning. What're you doing?"

Sam swallows around the cotton feeling in his throat. "I can't see."

"What?"

" _I can't see._ "

There's a pause before he hears the sound of bed sheets rustling and Dean digging through his bag.

"Define 'can't see,'" Dean says. "Like anything at all?"

"No."

A moment later the side of the bed sinks down and Dean touches his face, pushing up at the top of his eyelids as if his eyes are closed. Sam is sure they aren't, because he can feel himself blinking.

A dull blob of light passes into his vision.

"Can you see this?" Dean asks.

"Not really," Sam says. His voice cracks in misery. "I can tell it's a light."

The light turns off.

"Can you see this?"

There's nothing. Sam shakes his head.

"Can you see me at all? Or any shapes or anything?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head again and bile rises in his throat. Dean mutters a swear.

"Okay, Sammy," he says. "We should probably get you to a hospital."

"Okay," Sam chokes out.

"Can you slide your shoes on?" Dean asks, shoving them into his hands. "Right one is in your right hand." Sam nods and moves through the darkness in his vision to put his shoes on his feet.

Dean is bustling around the room. Sam hears him snatch the keys off the table before he feels a hand on his arm pulling him to his feet.

"Here we go," Dean says, leading him forward. The door opens with a soft click and cold air blasts over Sam, making him shiver. Dean pushes him outside and then Sam hears the door of the Impala open and Dean helps him carefully slide into the seat, one hand on top of his head to stop him from hitting it.

A moment later Dean is sliding in next to him and the engine rumbles to life.

"Does your head hurt?" Dean asks.

"No," Sam says. He knows what Dean must be thinking. That the initial thing that knocked him unconscious might now be the reason his vision is gone.

"I knew I should have taken you in after I found you," Dean says, letting out a growl.

"It's not my head," Sam says.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know." He swallows again and tries not to cry.

"All right," Dean says. "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out. Just let me know if anything changes, okay? We'll be there soon."

It's disorientating for Sam to feel the car moving but not be able to see anything. His stomach rolls with the motions and he leans his head against the window.

He doesn't feel the car come to a stop.

"Sam?" Dean grabs his shoulder. "You with me?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, hang on. We're here."

Doors open and close and Dean's hand is on him again, pulling him out onto his feet. Sam stumbles and grasps for his arm to steady himself.

"You good?" Dean asks.

"As good as I can be," Sam says.

Dean moves him forward, but the ground lurches beneath Sam's feet, tipping at odd angles. He doesn't have a chance to anchor himself to something before he starts to fall.

Dean catches him under the arms. "Sam? What's wrong? Talk to me."

Everything is spinning. Nausea strikes hard and fast and he doubles over and throws up.

"Sam?" Dean's voice is edging panic now. Sam waits until the world settles before he spits out the foul taste in his mouth, his eyes streaming.

"I'm okay," he manages. "I think it's just my equilibrium thrown off."

Dean huffs out a breath and slings one of Sam's arms over his shoulder, dragging him forward again. "This is so not good."

Warm air washes over Sam as they step into what he figures must be the emergency room.

"Can I get a little help?" Dean calls.

There are more hands on Sam, pulling him away from his brother.

"What happened?" someone asks.

"He just went blind," Dean says. Sam feels his touch again. "They're gonna lay you down, Sam."

Sam moves with them, breathing through the panic rising in his throat.

"He got hit in the head a couple days ago," Dean says. "And he woke up half an hour ago and his vision was gone. He just collapsed out front."

"Head trauma," the voice says. "Let's get him a CAT scan. Did he have his head looked at after the incident?"

"No," Dean says.

"It's possible his brain is swelling and pushing against his optic nerves." Sam sees another blob of light pass in front of his eyes. "Sam, my name is Doctor Hanson. Do you see this light at all?"

"Kind of," Sam says. He can feel himself moving, being rolled somewhere. The light disappears.

"Can you see my hand?"

Sam shakes his head.

"What about now?"

"No," he says.

"Has he been disoriented?" Hanson asks, but he's not talking to Sam anymore.

"A little bit," Dean says. "The hit to his head knocked him out."

"And you didn't bring him in?"

"You really want to lecture me right now, Doc? I think there's some more important things to cover first."

Hanson sighs. "Right, right. Look, we need to get in and scan his head immediately. If his retinas have detached, we don't have a long window of time to work with. I'm afraid you're going to have stay here. We can't let you go any further."

"But – "

"We'll have someone come out to talk to you once we know more. We really need to get him in now."

"Fine," he says. Sam feels him squeeze his shoulder. "I'll be right out in the waiting room, okay, Sammy? Everything's gonna be okay."

Sam swallows hard and nods.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean paces in front of a row of plastic chairs, his phone smashed against his ear, relaying all the information he has to Bobby.

"What the hell do you mean he went blind?" Bobby asks.

"He woke up and his vision was gone."

"People don't just wake up blind, boy," he growls. "Not for no reason. You sure whatever took him didn't mess with him?"

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "I have no way of knowing," he says. "Sam doesn't remember anything and there's nothing I can see wrong with him except the blow to his head. I don't know what to do, Bobby. If Sam stays blind, I ..."

"I'll get to researching," Bobby says. "I'll bet my ass this isn't a coincidence. Watch out for your brother, idjit."

"Will do, Bobby," Dean says. The line goes dead.

It's hours before Hanson comes to get Dean. He tells him the good news: Sam's retinas are still attached, there's only slight swelling in his brain, and no fractures. The bad news? They still have no idea why Sam went blind.

"We've called in a specialist. It's possible a number of things could be happening. The specialist will be able to see if anything has detached behind his eyes. If not, I think we're looking at some kind damage in the brain."

"Damage?" Dean asks. "Like, permanent damage?"

"It's hard to say right now. We need to run more tests."

"Doc, just tell me straight forward. Is my brother going to be blind forever?"

Hanson sighs. "We don't know, Dean. But, in all honesty, it could be very likely."

Dean balls his hands into fists and takes a deep breath.

 _Come on, Bobby._

XxX

They let Dean into Sam's room. Sam is sleeping – or so Dean is told. He can't see Sam's eyes to tell. There's a heavy bandage wrapped around his head, hiding all traces of the familiar green irises. Hanson tells him they're doing it as a precaution until they can figure out what's going on.

Dean just nods. He's not sure what else to say.

Bobby doesn't call. Dean's adrenaline plummets fast, and he finds himself falling victim to the waves of sleep trying to pull him in. He figures he'll get a few minutes of rest and then pick up some research and see if he can help Bobby find anything. As long as Sam is in the hands of professionals, he's got a little time.

He is dozing, head resting on the edge of the mattress, when Sam stirs. He pushes himself up in time to hear Sam's sharp breath.

"Sam?" he asks.

Sam claws at the bandage around his eyes, trying to unravel it. Dean grabs his wrists.

"Leave it, Sammy," he says. "They need to keep your eyes wrapped."

"No." Sam yanks his hands free. "No. Wait. Just let me. I have to – "

"Take it easy, Sam."

Sam pushes Dean's hands away again and pries his fingers under the bandage, pulling it down and blinking quickly.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean says. "Why can't you listen for once?"

Sam swallows hard. "I can see you."

"What?" Dean leans over him and holds up a hand. "How many fingers?"

"I don't know," Sam says. "Everything is foggy. But I can see your hand."

Dean sits back. He's relieved, for starters, but worry is quickly taking its place.

"Okay, what the hell?" he says.

Sam shakes his head. "I have no idea."

"So you go to bed and wake up blind, then go to bed again and wake up unblind?"

"'Unblind' isn't a word." He rubs at his eyes, blinking rapidly again. He glances around the room. "You think it's connected to whatever we're hunting?"

"No, Sam. I think the world is full of hilarious coincidences. Obviously it's connected. People don't wake up blind and then wake up not blind for no reason." He takes a deep breath and pushes his fingers into his temples. "Look, let's not focus on that right now. Bobby's got his feelers out. Let's just get the doc in here to look at you and then we'll try to figure out what the hell is going on."

"Okay."

They run multiple tests. They scan his head every which way, shine lights into his eyes, poke and prod at his skull. No one can explain why Sam's vision is back, or why it left in the first place. They have the specialist look at him. She takes pictures of his eyes, of behind his eyes, and asks if she has the right patient because she can't find anything out of the ordinary. She has Sam do a normal vision test, but Sam tells her the same thing he told Dean. His eyes are too foggy to make out specifics.

She talks to Dean, then, and asks about the head injury and what has been going on. Dean tells her the truth for the most part. Tells her that Sam was out by himself and hit his head, but doesn't remember how. Tells her about him throwing up, about him going to bed and waking up blind, throwing up again, and then waking up not blind. She is perplexed. She can't offer any solid reasoning, which only pushes Dean further into the belief that whatever they're hunting did this to Sam.

But why?

The doctors want to keep Sam overnight to make sure his vision comes back fully and nothing else happens. Sam is restless, though, and Dean knows there's no point trying to force him to stay. They're dealing with a monster. If it wanted Sam to stay blind, he'd be blind.

So they check out of the hospital, against many wishes of the staff, and drive back to the motel.

Dean calls Bobby, but he doesn't answer. Sam is still having trouble seeing and he's grumpy and nauseated from not be able to make anything out. Dean has him lay down and then fetches him a cool washcloth to place over his eyes before he dives into his own research.

"You think it's a vengeful spirit?" Sam asks.

"No ghost could do this," Dean says. "And we ruled them out a long time ago."

"The M.O. has changed. We shouldn't rule out anything."

He sighs. "Shut your face, Sam. Let me deal with this."

Sam mutters a swear word at him, but doesn't say anything else. Dean hears his deep breathing a few minutes later and runs his hands over his face.

"Awesome," he murmurs. "Just awesome."

XxX

Sam startles awake sometime later.

"Sam?" Dean asks. "You all right?"

Sam pulls the damp cloth from his eyes, blinking away the blurriness. He still can't see clearly, but everything is sharper than it was before. He looks over to where Dean is sitting at the table and swallows hard.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he says, roughly.

"How's your vision?"

"Getting better every minute. Got anything on our monster?"

Dean snorts. "Not unless 'nothing' is the new 'anything.'"

"Hmm." Sam sits up. "How long have I been out?"

He can barely make out Dean as his brother glances at his watch, standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. "A long time. I'm heading out to get some food. You want anything?"

"Sure."

"Healthy salad crap?" He shakes his head before Sam can answer. "That stuff isn't good for you."

"Salad isn't crap, and it's extremely good for you."

"Yeah, sure, technically it's 'healthy.' But at what cost, Sam? You're eating rabbit food. You need to get some protein in your diet. A good ol' chunk of meat will help."

"I get plenty of protein." Sam rubs at his eyes.

"Okay, Ray Charles, whatever you say," Dean says. "Try to stay put until I get back. The last thing I need is you stumbling around here like a drunk toddler."

"You know, either of those metaphors would have worked on their own. You don't need to combine them."

"Such a nerd."

"Aren't you gone yet?"

He may not be able to see correctly, but he knows Dean is flipping him the bird.

After the door closes, Sam wastes no time in flinging his legs over the side of the bed, disobeying Dean's request. There's no way in hell Sam is going to let his brother help him to the bathroom. Some things are too personal, even between siblings.

He pushes himself to his feet and stumbles. It's not the half-blindness that's disorienting him, it's the accompanying dizziness. He can make out shapes just fine. Sure, he doesn't exactly know what they all are, but he can manage. The dizziness, on the other hand, nearly sends him to his knees. He swallows hard past the nausea rising in his stomach and painfully finds his way to the bathroom, managing to keep his insides from rebelling on him and making it back to the bed before Dean returns.

There's a moment of uneasiness between them. Sam can see _enough_ , but not exactly enough. Dean knows that, and he must also be wondering how well Sam is going to be able to eat on his own. His feet shift restlessly on the carpet for a few minutes before he shoves a fork into Sam's hand and the plastic bowl of salad into the other.

"Need me to do the airplane?" he asks.

Sam's lips twitch. "Bite me."

"Aw, Sammy. Such a sweet talker."

It's hard, at first, but he gets the hang of it. His depth perception is off, thrown slightly from the swirling in his head, and a few times it takes him far longer than it should to find his mouth. If Dean notices, he doesn't say anything. He just chomps away noisily at his burger.

By the time Sam finishes his salad, his vision has cleared a little more and the dizziness has gotten worse. He feels like he's spinning, like the world is swaying and dancing under his feet. He moves to set his glass of water on the table, and when he misses it's not because of his eyes.

"M'sorry," he mutters. "Let me –"

"Don't." Dean's voice is sharp. "Don't put your feet down. There's glass all over the carpet. Just stay put. I'll get it."

He thinks maybe now is the time to tell Dean something isn't right. This isn't just from his vision. This isn't normal.

"Dean –"

And then everything shifts again and the food he just ate is coming back up his throat, burning its way through his mouth and nose. Dean lets out a surprised curse and grabs his shoulders, keeping him from falling forward.

"Is this your eyes again?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head and winces. Something else comes up his throat, but it isn't food anymore.

"Shit, shit, shit." Dean's grip tightens. He grabs Sam's face with his free hand and turns it toward him. Sam can barely make him out. "Sam, talk to me. What's happening?"

Nothing makes sense to Sam. His world is jolting him all over the place. "What?"

Dean is speaking again, but the words sound muffled and far away. Sam slams his eyes closed. _Please not my hearing_ , he chants to himself, _Please not my hearing_. But then something hits him across the face, startling him, and Dean's worried voice comes over loud and clear.

"Sam! Open your eyes."

Sam does.

"Can you see me?" Dean asks.

Sam nods.

"Okay, listen to me. You're throwing up blood. I gotta get you back to the hospital."

He swallows hard. "It won't –" A cough forces its way up his throat, suffocating him. Dean slams his fist into his back.

"Damn it, Sam."

"It won't help," he finally chokes out, wheezing through liquid breaths. "It's – it's that t-thing. It's d-doing this t-to me."

"I don't care what's doing this," Dean says. "The hospital is the only thing that's gonna keep you from puking out your lungs until I can find it. I'm taking you."

"Dean." Sam reaches blindly for him as he doubles over again. Dean holds his weight while he throws up.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Hands touch at his cheeks. "Don't move. I'm calling an ambulance."

"Dean, don't."

"What, you honestly think you can make it to the car?"

"I d-don't need a h-hospital."

Dean yanks him back and slides off the bed. "Blood is coming out of your _eyes_ , Sam. Your eyes and your nose and apparently your stomach. I'm calling for help before you drain out completely. You can bitch and moan all you want while they're filling you back up."

Sam doesn't complain, though. Every part of his being feels miserable. He wipes at his face, hoping to soak up some of the blood, only to pull his hand back and see it covered red. The sight makes his vision spin, and Sam curses himself because blood is nothing new to him. He's been shot and stabbed as many times as he can remember.

Someone cups his face and turns it. A voice is talking, begging, but Sam can't make it out. There's something flat under his back – the floor, he realizes with confusion. He isn't sure when he moved down to it. Or if Dean moved him down to him. Or if he fell or rolled off the bed. A chunk of time is gone.

"Sammy?" It's Dean's voice, raw and too high and filled with emotion. "Sam, can you hear me? Come on, Sammy. Wake up. The medics are almost here, okay? You just gotta wake up. Stay with me. Sam?"

Sam wants to open his eyes, but he's too tired. All the energy has drained from him, and his muscles scream and cry every time Dean shakes him. He tries to tell Dean he's okay, a quick mumble of words to let him know he's alive, but before he can say anything he finds himself slipping into a wave of red that brightens and brightens until it explodes into nothing.

The last thing he hears is Dean yelling.


End file.
